Uncle Tom's Cabin

We took turns showering.

I put lotion on my glowing butthole and high-fived him as he came in.  Drying my hair in the front room, I could hear Uncle Tom singing into the steaming spray.  The clock in the hall cuckooed ten times and the October wind shivered around the corners of the cabin.  Wrapping the terrycloth around my waist, I stoked the wood- stove and smiled over how my ass felt like it still had something like a baby's arm shoved up inside.

Uncle Tom has a very deep voice.  He also has pretty lame musical taste.  If he isn't whistling stuff from the fifties, he's singing songs from groups that are way, way gone.  "I'm gonna lay you down in a bed of roses," I heard him through the door, "for tonight I sleep on a bed of nails.....I'm gonna be just as close as the Holy Ghost is....."  The brass lamp with the green shade reminded me of his eyes.  The log walls with native woven rugs on them reminded me of his warmth.  And the old sofa with its beat-up cushions reminded me of........

"Hey, bubba."  He was standing in the doorway, his head nearly touching the top of the arch.

"Hey, Hercules."  His black hair was slicked back, but that wayward curl still hung over his tanned brow.  "Where'd you get those from? —the very back of the drawer?"

He looked down at his frayed undershirt and jockeys.  "I dunno.  We need to do a laundry tomorrow.  Aren't you cold?"

I wrapped my towel a little more snuggly and shrugged.  "It's warm in here.  The wind's sure picking up, though, huh?"

He tilted his head, listening to the branch knocking on the front window.  "We've gotta bring in more wood before we hit the sack."  He headed for the kitchen.  "C'mon, Billy, we should finish the dishes."

I smiled at how his wifebeater couldn't seem to cover his physique.  It was thread-bare in places, his muscles nearly ripping through.  His giant shoulders made the straps look ready to snap.  And the seat of his jockeys sported a few holes, unable to hold his soccer ball cheeks inside.

I loved how he never seemed aware of his own body.  I'd spend so much time looking in the mirror, trying to get my curly hair to behave, while he'd barely look at himself.  He hated shaving--bothering only about twice a week--and threw on anything that appeared first in the closet.

At the doorway I watched how his shoulders tapered down to a waist so small, his ass literally bounced out from his hips.  His frayed shorts were stretched so thin, I could view the dark, furry crease, mysterious and begging to be explored.  Below were hairy thighs so big, they flexed even when he was relaxed.

I watched his triceps and biceps bulge as he squeezed some dish soap into the sink.

"Tell me how you are, Billy," he said, handing me the dish towel.

I could feel his freshly showered body radiating heat over my naked torso.  I almost dropped a plate while looking at his hunky ass.  I'd never really seen him walking around in underwear before. 

"Well, let me see," I said.  "My rear feels a little 'broken in'", I admitted.  "And, you know....", I hesitated a bit.  ".... I feel a little...."

He paused.  "....a little....?"  He was looking down sideways at me with raised brows.

".... you know," I shrugged and smirked.  "Horny."

His eyebrows shot up, a half-smile playing on his dimpled mouth.  "Horny?" he queried me. "You're really still horny?" 

He watched me shrug and shyly nod, looking down at my feet.

"Aren't you even a little bit tired?"  He watched me then staring at his big round muscular butt.

"Me?.....Tired?" I crunched my abs and flexed my pecs, then gave him a devilish smirk, "Can't you remember being eighteen?"

He stopped washing the cutlery and turned, his eyebrows furrowing.  "Shit.  How old do you think I even am, dude?"

I burst out laughing.  "Dude?" I laughed more and pointed.  "Excuse me, Uncle Tom---but did you just call me 'dude'?!"

I wasn't prepared for how quickly he turned on me, reaching for my towel. 

I danced away but not before his hand grabbed it free.  "You little shit.... trying to make me feel old?"  He nodded at my naked crotch.  "Looks like I'm young enough to give you a big fat hardon---huh, dude?" He snapped my towel at me.

I laughed, watching his green eyes hunger over my sexy bushed ramrod cock and bouncing balls ---staring as everything jumped and twitched, boy balls slapping.  I snapped the dish towel in his direction.  But he kept moving menacingly closer, backing me into the front room.

I was laughing and darting around the sofa--watching his muscles flex and dance--watching his jockeys heavily sway as he stalked me.  It was like being chased by a big turned-on linebacker.

"C'mere boy.... take your punishment."

I waited until he was between the sofa and the wall, then darted in front and shoved the whole thing back, pinning him.  Then I leapt onto the cushions and grabbed his shirt in both hands.  A second before his huge arms stopped me, I tore the whole front of it open.

A look of surprise crossed his rugged face as we both watched those furry tits bust out.

"Why, you little fucker," he muttered.  "You think your little rearend hurts now?"  He almost tossed the sofa aside, climbing right over it, heading my way.  “You’re in for a spanking you’ll never forget!”

I threw my arms out trying to stop his advance, my spasmed laughter breathy, my eyes drinking in his tattered wifebeater, his mountainous pecs and fat nipples staring at me.  I could see the skin of his giant balls peeping through one of the holes in his ancient Fruit-of-the-Looms.  His thighs flexed mightily and a thrilling, fearful excitement grabbed my heart. 

"I--I didn't mean it..."  I laughingly protested.  "Honest!"  He kept coming towards me.  "Uncle Tom!--" I laughed and yelled, and saw myself getting backed into the corner, my stiff boycock tossing around.

His fierce, menacing look couldn't hide the fact that he was staring right at my shit.  And even as he backed me further into the log-walled corner, his own mantool began swelling in response.  I could see the expanding head pushing against the frayed cotton.

I knew then that this was all a big show.  I knew then that I was turning him on.... turning him on bigtime.  It brought new laughter to my lips.

"You better apologize pretty damn quick, Mr. Dude."

I got caught in a fit of bent over giggling, which managed to force a crooked smile over his wide, sexy lips.

"Well?!"

The longer he had to wait for me, the bigger and stiffer his frayed pouch was getting.

"I-I'm sorry!" I burst out laughing.  “Honest!  I didn’t mean it!”, I tried to stop laughing but couldn’t.

"You call that an apology?"  He spread both arms out wide, anchoring them on the walls. 

I was now so far into the corner, my bare ass was brushing the logs.

I stared into his twinkling green eyes.  He was trying like hell to keep his faked upset going.

 "I think, um, I think I'd rather be punished, sir," I reached up to tweak one of his stiff tits.

 Before I knew it, I was suddenly being lifted right off my feet and up over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

"Hey!"  My arms were grabbing his huge lats for dear life, my hard cock digging into his hairy armpit.

The next thing I knew, we were back in the kitchen, and I was suddenly back on my feet. 

Uncle Tom tossed me the dish towel.

"What the hell...?"

He turned back toward the sink.  "You want punishment?"  He hummed along to some dumb country tune on the radio.  He nodded at the towel.  "Finish drying the damn dishes, punk."

I stood there, towel in hand--so horny my balls ached---naked and hard-cocked, pouting as he handed me a dripping bowl.  This wasn’t the punishment I had in mind.

"You actually like that music?", I muttered.  "Garth Brooks sucks so bad."

"Better than your lame Swifty shit."

I watched him begin whistling and moving to the beat.

Being so friggin' tall, he was bent over the sink, his tight, hard, furry soccerball cheeks tossing around---tossing right out at me---right before my ogling eyes.

Damn!  There was a frayed spot dead center where I knew his segmented, fur-ringed cherry had to be.  The thin cotton did nothing to hide the mystery of those dancing globes, frictioning against each other, his deeply cleft, furry crack rubbing and hiding the only thing in the whole world I wanted in that moment!  And that maddening little tear almost--but not quite--let me view his tender, clenched manpussy.  And all of it---all of that jockey-hiding, hard beachball butt---was swinging about to Garth like a great big gift-wrapped present.

My bigboycock began spewing fuckjuice while my bigboyballs ached from dammed-up cum.

And then....then I saw him kind of glancing back at my cock, as though he was checking to see if his ass action was having an effect.

Hell.  That's when I knew it was all just a big act, a way of getting me all hot and turned on and frustrated.

I dropped the dish towel.

I started humming along to the dumb song myself, moving to the beat. 

Uncle Tom stopped washing the dishes and watched me from the corner of his eye.

My eight inches twitched and brushed his frayed jockeys in time to the music.  Thrills rode up my shaft to feel my dick connect with his hot, hunky ass, separated by only the thinnest cotton.

Then I heard him expel air and even give out a little sound—not a moan exactly, but not far from it.

"Oh my God", I rode my naked dick up his cotton-covered divide.  "Don't punish me anymore, ok?"  I ran my hands up his muscular sides, my throbbing cock shuddering at the thrills.

Without saying a word, Uncle Tom brought his big, wet, dishwater hands around behind him.

I backed away and then stared bug-eyed as he suddenly hooked his first fingers into that tiny hole and tore the whole seat of those jockeys wide open.

I fell to my knees, needing to see it, needing to have it.  Uncle Tom leaned further over the sink, his muscular globes splitting.  Even so, his cleft was so tight, it took both my hands to pry it apart.

"Oh, man...oh, God," I moaned, spying his dusky rose oval.  He squeezed it for me, then let the segmented lens open up.  Whisps of male hair ringed the sweet thing, making me dive right inside.

His muscular cheeks snapped back, trapping my whole face between those steamy, furry soccerball cheeks.  My tongue went wild, licking all over, trying to get inside.  I tasted talcum powder and sandalwood soap until finally I licked my way through to the flavor of freshly- showered Uncle Tom.  It was hot and male and something I suddenly knew I craved so much, my hard cock thumped on the kitchen floor, demanding it have its way.

My hands grabbed at those twin swells, so muscular they didn't give at all.

 Finally in frustration, I just tore those jockeys clean off him, my face still snuffling inside his hairy crease.

I smacked his hard ass, drilling my tongue right inside his virgin twat. 

"Ahhhhhhh" I heard him moan.

The next thing I knew, I was shoved backwards onto the floor, looking up at a blur of male, hairy balls and towering meat.  His cockhead was leaking on my tits, his thick bush still damp from his shower.  His gigantic thighs quivered, and up between them I could still spy his mysterious, male taint.

When I finally managed to tear my eyes away from the sight, I looked up further, into his eyes. 

He had a look on his face I'd never seen before. 

He looked slightly unnerved, as though coping with forces he didn’t understand.  Without speaking, he strode into the front room, mancock lancing ahead.

When I scrambled to my feet and walked in, I couldn't seem to find him.

"Over here," I heard his voice all deep and husky and quiet.

In the furthest corner of the room--behind the woodstove-- is a big, old, upholstered armchair, one neither of us ever sits in.  And he was kneeling on the arms of it, his back to me, watching me from over his right shoulder.

Spread wide was his hot, furry, so-male sexy globes.

It all silently called out, making me stop and shudder, my cock suddenly spurting all over the rug, flexing in heat at the lewd display.

"Make love to me, Billy," he said, staring into my stunned face.  "Make love to my big hot ass."

I trembled, my cock bucking about.

"Come on, baby," he said.  "Fair's fair.  I broke yours."

I felt my heart almost explode from the love suddenly swelling it.  I swooned at the sight of his puckered cunt.

My cock moved forward, then knocked on his hot virgin door.

"Billy?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Make it wet for me baby, huh?  Get me ready, ok?"

Reverently and without a word I crouched down before his spread virgin hole.  He was leaning over the back of the chair, knees firmly anchored on both of its arms.  Below his split butt, his dark balls hung like avocados, while his enormous cock flexed upwards, the head rubbing into the upholstery.  I reached in to play with his hairy peaches and heard a moan.

Still fondling, I leaned in and French-kissed his hot, sweet cunt.  Uncle Tom breathed out a stream of air as I licked and kissed and licked and chewed and played with his huge balls.  Hell, I slobbered and snuffled and rutted, snorting into his ass, my tongue wet and hot.

Rolling onto my back, I scooted my head up over the cushion, and under his hairy nuts, mouthing and basting each jewel in turn.  His physique shivered when I leaned up and licked the base of his pulsing monster.  Bringing my hand inside, I levered the whole wet thing down to my cockloving lips and basted the head with a flood of warm spit.  He moaned and trembled, calling my name.  I couldn't stop.... couldn’t stop sucking the big, juicy helmet, my mouth unable to reach it all.

"Billy, I need it now," I heard him whisper down.  "I need your love."

I let it out with a loud pop, the urgency in his voice so wildly exotic, so utterly not like him my cock spasmed and nearly shot.  I once again stood before his needy ass, wet and gleaming with spit.  I brought my palms in to fondle each globe, my cockhead skimming the surface of his coral-pink pussy.

I stared at his incredible back, at the two dimples just above his heat-radiating globes.  I stared at the tiny hairs rivering down his slice and ringing his winking oval.  ".... a-are you sure?", I whispered.

He groaned then, the sound lewd and primal.

"Fuck me," he groaned louder, his voice bouncing off the walls.  "Fuck your Uncle Tom, Billy!"

A shaky, thrilling hunger seized my dick, my hand bending its stiffness down to find dead center.

Not knowing what the hell I was doing, my hips suddenly just lunged forward, plowing my overheated bulb clean inside.

"UHHHHHHHhhhhhh," we moaned together.

"Jesus God!", he grunted.  "Don't move!

JUST.......

stay.....

there!"

I couldn't speak--could only seem to nod my head mutely--my rockhard cock so surrounded by interior muscle, I couldn't budge it, much less try pushing through any further.  It was so tight; I felt my pulse beating against his vice-clamping hole.

Whole minutes seemed to go by, the radio playing Patsy Cline or something, the bare branch still tapping against the window, the autumn night wind still whining around the eaves.

I ran my hands up his sides, feeling his narrow waist fan out into his spread, cobra lats.  I searched around his torso to massage and fondle his hairy tits and lust-stiff nipples.

"Okay...okay...now SLOW, ok?"

I nodded again---my hands immediately returning to anchor themselves on either side of his narrow waist---my hips finally obeying my will.  They fed his ass another inch or two, knowing all too well the time it takes for the sphincter to relax and stretch.

"Yeah....like that," he breathed out.  ".... just like that."

I couldn't believe the strength--the force of will it took to penetrate his cherry.  His clamping donut resisted every inch, until finally, both of us breathing deeply, my angelhair bush scrubbed his naked cheeks.

"Ohhhhhhhh.....so damn big, man!" he said.  "How the hell did you take mine?"

I couldn't speak.  It was like having hard cock sealed in lava.  A million tiny lips nibbled at it, the heat so intense, I thought the fucker would burst into flame. 

And then, finally, he gave me a nod.  "Fuck me, Billy.  Fuck me good.  Don't hold back.  Fuck your Uncle Tom."

It was like he'd just got on a young, wild colt and smacked its rump.  My hips suddenly took off, plowing his cherry cunt like an overheated piston.  My hands came down to cup each hot globe, sliding my eight-incher in and out while Uncle Tom moaned in heat and flexed his flaring back.

My bluntnosed bulb kept slamming into his ballbuzzer, bringing out groans from deep inside his guts.  "Ohhhhhhhh fuuuuuckkkk!"

My ballbag swung heavily beneath my jabbing thighs, smacking his own heaving sac, all so erotically hot I whimpered, little cries mixing with his groans, both of us incoherent, lost in a universe of muscular love and pent-up need.  I thought my heart would explode from how fully he was giving himself to me.

A steamy, clutching, massaging fever built inside my nuts.  I lost all sense of where and who I was, ballbag slapping his furry ass, hands up underneath to squeeze all the hairy pecmeat I could fondle, engorged  babycock nipples between my fingers.  My thighs quivered and quaked, warning me it couldn’t, wouldn’t last.

I tried to slow down, yet couldn't--began babbling into the room, my fingers pinching his nipples, my face hugging his rippling back.  "Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-0h.....Oh shit....oh Jesus.  Uncle Tom!  Uncle Tom!"  Nerve endings frayed, my cock on fire, pre-cum sloshing his steaming hole, slogging balls slapping, licking at the base of his neck.

It was all too hot, too frenzied, too much.  Completely out of control, I had to do something, had to stop or it wasn’t going to last.  Mindlessly, not thinking, I suddenly pulled out with a loud POP, hoping to stop my cock from going off!

But it was too late.

My throbbing meat danced above his evacuated hole, cum spewing in ropes over his flexing back, my mouth opening and closing, seized with sweet and anxious agony, I quickly shoved the spewing thing back inside, my hips knifing, my jizz fountaining, his love tunnel splashed and basted.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod!"  I couldn't stop fucking him, couldn't stop cumming.  My body heaved and spasmed, my abs flexing.  My torso collapsed, my cock still jizzing, licking his muscles, panting, kissing, squeezing.

I felt Uncle Tom move beneath me, and I managed to free my drooling rod just in time as he climbed from the chair and stood before me.

A determined, lusty gleam filled his eyes, as he looked down at me and then at his humongous cock.  The colossal, hair-wreathed thing snorted out juice, needing release, demanding release as I fell to my knees and grabbed it, yawning my mouth open so wide, my lips nearly split open as I forced the shiny, dripping, empurpled crown inside.

I used both hands to jack the rest of it, the apricot head stuffing my mouth.  My tongue painted and frictioned the ultra-tender skin just below the flange, as my lips sucked that smooth, polished mushroomed bulb with all the drooling love I had inside. 

"Oh, my boy, my baby boy," Uncle Tom moaned, his head tossing around.  "Cocksucking my big hungry throbber!"

My hands jacked like mad, his swaying peaches smacking my chin.

He was so huge, so male, so muscular, I tried like hell to take it all.  The most I could manage was about a third, and he was cursing and praising me and moaning, his thighs quivering, his whole physique starting to quake.

His balls rose into one giant bundle, exposing his furry taint.  Enflamed, I drove my hand up his inner thigh, shoving two fingers up behind his nuts to skewer his well-fucked twat, feeling my sex milk coat my hand.

"UUUUUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Uncle Tom's face contorted as his giant cock erupted--jizzing my tonsils, flooding my bulging cheeks.  I gagged and swallowed, trying not to choke, then trying not to drown.  His wild whopper bucked with tortured orgasm, jizz thundering from its flexing mouth.  I had to rise off of it--cream dripping from my chin--staring in awe as it heaved about, wracked with sweet thrills, firing more shots onto my tits, flexing and lurching and spewing until it finally lolled around before my worshipping eyes, letting one last drop spindle down into my bush.

 

 

I knew very well that he snored.

For a whole year I had heard him from behind my closed door.  Now the deep sound vibrated against my body as I snuggled into his side, his big bicep my pillow.  I buried my face in the hairy warmth of his pit, smelling my Uncle Tom, licking his velvety male skin.

Before we went to sleep, he'd taken me into the shower, lathering my whole body, not saying a word, returning to his calm, commanding presence.

Once in bed, he pulled the quilt around me, nestling my head with one huge arm while cradling my balls in the large hand of his other.

"I love you, Uncle Tom," I whispered.

"I love you, too, dude," he said, kissing me goodnight.

+ + + + + + + + + + +

Postscript: 

Did they live happily ever after?  You bet your ass.  They’re still there in the woods of Burnt Wood, Oregon (which actually does exist), and more in love than that first day on the porch.

---

Now….I wrote ‘Uncle Tom’ about 25 years ago, around the time I came out of a straight marriage at the age of 47.  Having been abused weekly for over three years as a young boy, coming out of the closet and affirming my gayness was the last thing I ever wanted to do.  I didn’t want to be anything like my abuser, including, and maybe especially, his orientation.  So, my closet was a walk-in—and not just a walk-in:  it had multiple rooms, meant to house me as a pretend straight man for the rest of my life.  Then, therapy at The Vancouver Male Survivors of Sexual Abuse Society helped me do the very thing I had dreaded, but came at enormous cost: coming out ended my marriage, barred me from custody of my child, and immediately ended my career, effectively leaving me with only the 1985 VW Camper van. 

What therapy at The Society gave me in return?  Myself.  And my truth.  And my self-worth.  And my integrity.  And even more than that, it gave me back my soul.  It gave me what I never had before, the ability to look myself in the mirror every morning and not self-critically look away, but smile.

Writing these stories, all of which are decades old, was my way of visualizing what gay life could be, might be, and yes, maybe even, should be.  Writing them was my way of erasing those sordid experiences when I was 8 thru 12.  I tried to make the sex in most of them relational—meaning more than just a way of getting one’s rocks off—an expression of love, at least in the moment, and perhaps one which could be lasting.

It helped me visualize something for myself.  Of course, the reality was far different from my fictionalized accounts. 

It wasn’t easy—and, of course, not anywhere nearly as easy as what happens to Billy and Tom.  And being middle aged didn’t help.  But after going back to school and acquiring a new career (I’m now retired), I began a relationship with a man 27 years my junior.  We’re now in our 21st year together, into our 16th year of marriage, live in a very nice house in a smallish city, in a very straight neighbourhood, with supportive neighbours, and a wonderful little dog.  All that’s missing is the white picket fence. 

Is that everyone’s experience?  I suspect, for many, far from it.  But it is my experience, meaning it does happen.  And so, yes, as destructive as child abuse is, it can be healed—or, if not exactly healed, then at least it can be meaningfully survived--and it can be addressed and it can help a person such as me find a way through the psychological/emotional weeds and build a new life based on the truth of one’s inner self.

Thank you for your supportive readership of my work and for your many likes and amazing affirmative comments.  If anyone needs to relate their own former abuse, or anything else, I am reachable at [email protected].

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